“It’s perfect!” said Patty, as she gazed delightedly at sea, and sky, and buildings. “It’s all my fancy painted it, only I didn’t think it would be a bit like this!”
“I did,” said Flo. “It’s exactly like the postcards of it, only bigger.”
“So it is,” said Nan; “I recognised that myself. And the more you see of it, the more you’ll love it.”
Then they came to the Rialto Bridge, and Patty wanted to get out and walk across it, but her father said there wasn’t time then, she must wait till the next day. So she and Flo just sat still and drifted calmly along, both feeling that the scene was too lovely even for words of appreciation.
On they swept, round the great curves of the Grand Canal, and now and then the gondolier sang out the name of a house or a church they were passing.
“He’s worse than an elevated road conductor,” said Patty. “I can’t make out a word he says; but then I don’t want to. I don’t care to-night which church is which, and if the Borgias had lived in Browning’s house, I should make no objection.”
“Well, here’s the Piazzetta,” said her father; “you must learn this, as you’ll spend a lot of time here. It leads to the Piazza of St. Mark, and is the meeting place of all Venice.”
“Then I suppose you’ll call St. Mark’s the meeting-house,” said Patty; “it sounds provincial to me.”
“Don’t be disrespectful,” said her father; “before two days have passed, you’ll be everlastingly making tracks for the Piazza.”
“Not I,” said Patty; “I expect to live in a gondola. Can’t I have one all to myself, Father? Just for Flo and me, I mean. You and Nan will be always wanting this one.”